Highways in Hiding

by George O. Smith

  XIV

  I left homestead with a half-formed idea that I was going to visitBruce, Wisconsin, long enough to say goodbye to Catherine and to releaseher from any matrimonial involvement she may have felt binding. I didnot relish this idea, but I felt that getting it out, done, and agreedwas only a duty.

  But as I hit the road and had time to think, I knew that my half-formedintention was a sort of martyrdom; I was going to renounce myself in afine welter of tears and then go staggering off into the setting sun todie of my mental wounds. I took careful stock of myself and faced thefact that my half-baked idea was a sort of suicide-wish; walking intoany Mekstrom way station now was just asking for capture and a fast tripto their reorientation rooms. The facts of my failure and mytaking-of-leave would be indication enough for Catherine that I wasbowing out. It would be better for Catherine, too, to avoid a fine,high-strung, emotional scene. I remembered the little bawling session inthe Harrison living room that night; Catherine would not die for want ofa sympathetic hand on her shoulder. In fact, as she'd saidpragmatically, well balanced people never die of broken hearts.

  Having finally convinced myself of the validity of this piece of obviouslogic, I suddenly felt a lot better. My morose feeling faded away; myconviction of utter uselessness died; and my half-formed desire toinvestigate a highly hypothetical Hereafter took an abrupt about-face.And in place of this collection of undesirable self-pities came a muchnicer emotion. It was a fine feeling, that royal anger that boiled upinside of me. I couldn't lick 'em and I couldn't join 'em, so I wasgoing out to pull something down, even if it all came down around my ownears.

  I stopped long enough to check the Bonanza .375 both visually andperceptively and then loaded it full. I consulted a road map to chart acourse. Then I took off with the coal wide open and the damper rods allthe way out and made the wheels roll towards the East.

  I especially gave all the Highways a very wide berth. I went downseveral, but always in the wrong direction. And in the meantime, I keptmy sense of perception on the alert for any pursuit. I drove with myeyes alone. I could have made it across the Mississippi by nightfall ifI'd not taken the time to duck Highway signs. But when I got good, andsick, and tired of driving, I was not very far from the River. I found amotel in a rather untravelled spot and sacked in for the night.

  I awoke at the crack of dawn with a feeling of impending _something_. Itwas not doom, because any close-danger would have nudged me on the bumpof perception. Nor was it good, because I'd have awakened lookingforward to it. Something odd was up and doing. I dressed hastily, and asI pulled my clothing on I took a slow dig at the other cabins in themotel.

  Number One contained a salesman type, I decided, after digging throughhis baggage. Number Two was occupied by an elderly couple who wereloaded with tourist-type junk and four or five cameras. Number Threeharbored a stopover truck driver and Number Four was almost overflowingwith a gang of schoolgirls packed sardine-wise in the single bed. NumberFive was mine. Number Six was vacant. Number Seven was also vacant butthe bed was tumbled and the water in the washbowl was still running out,and the door was still slamming, and the little front steps were stillclicking to the fast clip of high heels, and----

  I hauled myself out of my cabin on a dead gallop and made a fast linefor my car. I hit the car, clawed myself inside, wound up the turbineand let the old heap in gear in one unbroken series of motions. Thewheels spun and sent back a hail of gravel, then they took a bite out ofthe parking lot and the take-off snapped my head back.

  Both esper and eyesight were very busy cross-stitching a crooked coursethrough the parking lot between the parked cars and the trees that wereintended to lend the outfit a rustic atmosphere. So I was too busy totake more than a vague notice of a hand that clamped onto the doorframeuntil the door opened and closed again. By then I was out on the highwayand I could relax a bit.

  "Steve," she said, "why do you do these things?"

  Yeah, it was Marian Harrison. "I didn't ask to get shoved into thismess," I growled.

  "You didn't ask to be born, either," she said.

  I didn't think the argument was very logical, and I said so. "Lifewasn't too hard to bear until I met you people," I told her sourly."Life would be very pleasant if you'd go away. On the other hand, lifeis all I've got and it's far better than the alternative. So if I'mmaking your life miserable, that goes double for me."

  "Why not give it up?" she asked me.

  I stopped the car. I eyed her dead center, eye to eye until she couldn'ttake it any more. "What would you like me to just give up, Marian? ShallI please everybody by taking a bite of my hip-pocket artillery sightswhilst testing the trigger pull with one forefinger? Will it makeanybody happy if I walk into the nearest reorientation museum blowingsmoke out of my nose and claiming that I am a teakettle that's gotta betaken off the stove before I blow my lid?"

  Marian's eyes dropped.

  "Do you yourself really expect me to seek blessed oblivion?"

  She shook her head slowly.

  "Then for the love of God, what do you expect of me?" I roared. "As Iam, I'm neither flesh nor fish; just foul. I'm not likely to give up,Marian. If I'm a menace to you and to your kind, it's just too tough.But if you want me out of your hair, you'll have to wrap me up insomething suitable for framing and haul me kicking and screaming to yourmind-refurbishing department. Because I'm not having any on my own.Understand?"

  "I understand, Steve," she said softly. "I know you; we all know you andyour type. You can't give up. You're unable to."

  "Not when I've been hypnoed into it," I said.

  Marian's head tossed disdainfully. "Thorndyke's hypnotic suggestion wasvery weak," she explained. "He had to plant the idea in such a way as toremain unidentified afterwards. No, Steve, your urge has always beenyour own personal drive. All that Thorndyke did was to point youslightly in our direction and give you a nudge. You did the rest."

  "Well, you're a telepath. Maybe you're also capable of planting apost-hypnotic suggestion that I forget the whole idea."

  "I'm not," she said with a sudden flare.

  I looked at her. Not being a telepath I couldn't read a single thought,but it was certain that she was telling the truth, and telling it insuch a manner as to be convincing. Finally I said, "Marian, if you knowthat I'm not to be changed by logic or argument, why do you bother?"

  For a full minute she was silent, then her eyes came up and gave it backto me with their electric blue. "For the same reason that Scholar Phelpshoped to use you against us," she said. "Your fate and your future istied up with ours whether you turn out to be friend or enemy."

  I grunted. "Sounds like a soap opera, Marian," I told her bitterly."Will Catherine find solace in Phillip's arms? Will Steve catchMekstrom's Disease? Will the dastardly Scholar Phelps--"

  "Stop it!" she cried.

  "All right. I'll stop as soon as you tell me what you intend to do withme now that you've caught up with me again."

  She smiled. "Steve, I'm going along with you. Partly to play thetelepath-half of your team. If you'll trust me to deliver the truth. Andpartly to see that you don't get into trouble that you can't get out ofagain."

  My mind curled its lip. Pappy had tanned my landing gear until I was outof the habit of using mother for protection against the slings andarrows of outrageous schoolchums. I'd not taken sanctuary behind awoman's skirts since I was eight. So the idea of running under theprotection of a woman went against the grain, even though I knew thatshe was my physical superior by no sensible proportion. Being cared forphysically by a dame of a hundred-ten--

  "Eighteen."

  --didn't sit well on me.

  "Do you believe me, Steve?"

  "I've got to. You're here to stay. I'm a sucker for a good-looking womananyway, it seems. They tell me anything and I'm not hardhearted enoughto even indicate that I don't believe them."

  She took my arm impulsively; then she let me go before she pinched itoff at the elbow. "Steve," she said earnestly, "Believe me and l
et me beyour--"

  #Better half?# I finished sourly.

  "Please don't," she said plaintively. "Steve, you've simply _got_ totrust _somebody_!"

  I looked into her face coldly. "The hardest job in the world for anon-telepath is to locate someone he can trust. The next hardest is toexplain that to a telepath; because telepaths can't see any difficultyin weeding out the non-trustworthy. Now--"

  "You still haven't faced the facts."

  "Neither have you, Marian. You intend to go along with me, ostensibly tohelp me in whatever I intend to do. That's fine. I'll accept it. But youknow good and well that I intend to carry on and on until somethingcracks. Now, tell me honestly, are you going along to help me cracksomething wide open, or just to steer me into channels that will notresult in a crack-up for your side?"

  Marian Harrison looked down for a moment; I didn't need telepathy toknow that I'd touched the sore spot. Then she looked up and said,"Steve, more than anything, I intend to keep you out of trouble. Youshould know by now that there is very little you can really do to harmeither side of our own private little war."

  #And if I can't harm either side, I can hardly do either side any good.#

  She nodded.

  #Yet I must be of some importance.#

  She nodded again. At that point I almost gave up. I'd been around thiscircle so many times in the past half-year that I knew how the back ofmy head looked. Always, the same old question.

  #_Cherchez le angle_,# I thought in bum French. Something I had wasimportant enough to both sides to make them keep me on the loose insteadof erasing me and my nuisance value. So far as I could see, I was asuseless to either side as a coat of protective paint laid on stainlesssteel. I was immune to Mekstrom's Disease; the immunity of one who hashad everything tried on him that scholars of the disease could devise.About the only thing that ever took place was the sudden disappearanceof everybody that I came in contact with.

  Marian touched my arm gently. "You mustn't think like that, Steve," shesaid gently. "You've done enough useless self-condemnation. Can't youstop accusing yourself of some evil factor? Something that really is notso?"

  "Not until I know the truth," I replied. "I certainly can't dig it; I'mno telepath. Perhaps if I were, I'd not be in this awkward position."

  Again her silence proved to me that I'd hit a touchy spot. "What am I?"I demanded sourly. "Am I a great big curse? What have I done, other thanto be present just before several people turn up missing? Makes me sortof a male Typhoid Mary, doesn't it?"

  "Now, Steve--"

  "Well, maybe that's the way I feel. Everything I put my great bigclutching hands on turns dark green and starts to rot. Regardless ofwhich side they're on, it goes one, two, three, four; Catherine,Thorndyke, You, Nurse Farrow."

  "Steve, what on Earth are you talking about?"

  I smiled down at her in a crooked sort of quirk. "You, of course, havenot the faintest idea of what I'm thinking."

  "Oh, Steve--"

  "And then again maybe you're doing your best to lead my puzzled littlemind away from what you consider a dangerous subject?"

  "I'd hardly do that--"

  "Sure you would. I'd do it if our positions were reversed. I don't thinkit un-admirable to defend one's own personal stand, Marian. But you'llnot divert me this time. I have a hunch that I am a sort of male TyphoidMary. Let's call me old Mekstrom Steve. The carrier of Mekstrom'sDisease, who can innocently or maliciously go around handing it out toanybody that I contact. Is that it, Marian?"

  "It's probably excellent logic, Steve. But it isn't true."

  I eyed her coldly. "How can I possibly believe you?"

  "That's the trouble," she said with a plaintive cry. "You can't. You'vegot to believe me on faith, Steve."

  I smiled crookedly. "Marian," I said, "That's just the right angle totake. Since I cannot read your mind, I must accept the old appeal to theemotions. I must tell myself that Marian Harrison just simply could notlie to me for many reasons, among which is that people do not lie toblind men nor cause the cripple any hurt. Well, phooey. Whatever kind ofgambit is being played here, it is bigger than any of its parts orpieces. I'm something between a queen and a pawn, Marian; a piece thatcan be sacrificed at any time to further the progress of the game.Slipping me a lie or two to cause me to move in some desired directionshould come as a natural."

  "But why would we lie to you?" she asked, and then she bit her lip; Ithink that she slipped, that she hadn't intended to urge me into deeperconsideration of the problem lest I succeed in making a sharp analysis.After all, the way to keep people from figuring things out is to stopthem from thinking about the subject. That's the first rule. Next comesthe process of feeding them false information if the First Law cannot beinvoked.

  "Why would you lie to me?" I replied in a sort of sneer. I didn't reallywant to sneer but it came naturally. "In an earlier age it might not benecessary."

  "What?" she asked in surprise.

  "Might not be necessary," I said. "Let's assume that we are living inthe mid-Fifties, before Rhine. Steve Cornell turns up being a carrier ofa disease that is really a blessing instead of a curse. In such a time,Marian, either side could sign me up openly as a sort of missionary; Icould go around the country inoculating the right people, those citizenswho have the right kind of mind, attitude, or whatever-factor. Followingme could be a clean-up corps to collect the wights who'd been inoculatedby my contact. Sounds reasonable, doesn't it?" Without waiting foreither protest or that downcast look of agreement, I went on: "But nowwe have perception and telepathy all over the place. So Steve Cornell,the carrier, must be pushed around from pillar to post, meeting peopleand inoculating them without ever knowing what he is doing. Because oncehe knows what he is doing, his usefulness is ended in this world ofRhine Institute."

  "Steve--" she started, but I interrupted again.

  "About all I have to do now is to walk down any main street radiating mysuspicions," I said bitterly. "And it's off to Medical Center forSteve--unless the Highways catch me first."

  Very quietly, Marian said, "We really dislike to use reorientation onpeople. It changes them so--"

  "But that's what I'm headed for, isn't it?" I demanded flatly.

  "I'm sorry, Steve."

  Angrily I went on, not caring that I'd finally caught on and by doing sohad sealed my own package. "So after I have my mind ironed out smoothly,I'll still go on and on from pillar to post providing newly inoculatedMekstroms for your follow-up squad."

  She looked up at me and there were tears in her eyes. "We were allhoping--" she started.

  "Were you?" I asked roughly. "Were you all working to innoculate me atHomestead, or were you really studying me to find out what made me acarrier instead of a victim?"

  "Both, Steve," she said, and there was a ring of honesty in her tone. Ihad to believe her, it made sense.

  "Dismal prospect, isn't it?" I asked. "For a guy that's done nothingwrong."

  "We're all sorry."

  "Look," I said with a sudden thought, "Why can't I still go on? I couldstart a way station of some sort, on some pretext, and go oninnoculating the public as they come past. Then I could go on workingfor you and still keep my right mind."

  She shook her head. "Scholar Phelps knows," she said. "Above all thingswe must keep you out of his hands. He'd use you for his own purpose."

  I grunted sourly. "He has already and he will again," I told her. "Notonly that, but Phelps has had plenty of chance to collect me on or offthe hook. So what you fear does not make sense."

  "It does now," she told me seriously. "So long as you did not suspectyour own part in the picture, you could do more good for Phelps byrunning free. Now you know and Phelps' careful herding of your motionswon't work."

  "Don't get it."

  "Watch," she said with a shrug. "They'll try. I don't dare experiment,Steve, or I'd leave you right now. You'd find out very shortly thatyou're with me because I got here first."

  "And knowing the score makes me also dan
gerous to your Highways? Likelyto bring 'em out of Hiding?"

  "Yes."

  "So now that I've dumped over the old apple cart, I can assume thatyou're here to take me in."

  "What else can I do, Steve?" she said unhappily.

  I couldn't answer that. I just sat there looking at her and trying toremember that her shapely one hundred and eighteen pounds were steelhard and monster strong and that she could probably carry me under onearm all the way to Homestead without breathing hard. I couldn't cut andrun; she could outrun me. I couldn't slug her on the jaw and get away;I'd break my hand. The Bonanza .375 would probably stun her, but I havenot the cold blooded viciousness to pull a gun on a woman and drill her.I grunted sourly, that weapon had been about as useful to me as astuffed bear or an authentic Egyptian Obelisk.

  "Well, I'm not going," I said stubbornly.

  She looked at me in surprise. "What are you going to do?" she asked me.

  I felt a glow of self-confidence. If I could not run loose with guiltyknowledge of my being a Mekstrom Carrier, it was equally impossible foranybody to kidnap me and carry me across the country. I'd radiate likemad; I'd complain about the situation at every crossroad, at everyfilling station, before every farmer. I'd complain mentally andbitterly, and sooner or later someone would get suspicious.

  "Don't think like an idiot," she told me sharply. "You drove across thecountry before, remember? How many people did you convince?"

  "I wasn't trying, then--"

  "How about the people in the hotel in Denver?" she asked me pointedly."What good did you do there?"

  #Very little, but--#

  "One of the advantages of a telepath is that we can't be taken bysurprise," she informed me. "Because no one can possibly work withoutplans of some kind."

  "One of the troubles of a telepath," I told her right back, "is thatthey get so confounded used to knowing what is going to happen next thatit takes all the pleasant element of surprise out of their lives. Thatmakes 'em dull and--"

  The element of surprise came in through the back window, passed betweenus and went _Splat!_ against the wind-shield. There was the sound likesomeone chipping ice with a spike followed by the distant bark of arifle. A second slug came through the back window about the time thatthe first one landed on the floor of the car. The second slug, notslowed by the shatter-proof glass in the rear, went through theshatter-proof glass in the front. A third slug passed through the sametunnel.

  These were warning shots. He'd missed us intentionally. He'd proved itby firing three times through the same hole, from beyond my esper range.

  I wound up the machinery and we took off. Marian cried something aboutnot being foolish, but her words were swept out through the hole in therear window, just above the marks on the pavement caused by my tires aswe spun the wheels.